


its okay

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alien Biology, Anal Sex, Cuddles, Established Relationship, Fluff, Horn Stimulation, M/M, Mute Dave, Muteness, Other, Porn, Riding, karkat is very human-like in this one tho, pr0n, redrom, shower makeouts, to a certain extent, why is that a tag help me how do i do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Karkat live together in a world where trolls and humans exist relatively peacefully together. Making ends meet isn't always easy and as they both work hard, they don't always find time to be together.</p><p>This is one of the times when they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	its okay

**Author's Note:**

> what's the difference between mature and explicit  
> alright this'll go into explicit so i don't offend anyone by only rating it mature
> 
> this is just porn i wrote one day long ago  
> i feel so dirty after tagging it
> 
> oh yeah dave's mute because i love mute dave and i wanted to pair him with a loud karkat

Saturday night. You’d driven the crowded dance floor crazy.

At first you’d been alert enough to notice faces in the crowd. Regulars. Acquaintances. Friends. But as time had gone by they’d blurred, forming a shapeless mass. You hadn’t seen the face you wanted to see so you’d tuned out all the other faces as well, you had presumed, your fingers moving swiftly but mechanically as you created sweet beats for the mass to dance to.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with your job. You enjoy it. It combines necessity with one of your many interests.

But you’d felt off the track, your beats not coming to you as easily as before, and your silent sighing and shifting around had definitely indicated that you’d rather have made tonight a lazy one, spent at home. Your trusty shades had blocked your empty gaze as it kept searching the crowd for the face you knew wasn’t there, and you have grown pretty good at seeming emotionally present even when it’s been a rough week and all you really want to do is go home and fall asleep next to Karkat Vantas, your partner.

In all honesty you’re not entirely sure what to call the relationship you share with him. He calls it so many things you get lost half way and decide it’s better to just leave it at what it is. You don’t particularly feel like you have to label it anyway.

He’s Karkat Vantas and you’re Dave Strider and you find his presence enjoyable, for a lack of a better term. You like having him around.

That’s really all there is to it.

You like wrapping your arms around him as he tries to beat Sollux Captor in some online game you’d never really tried since you can’t see a point in it. You like kissing his neck and slide your hand down his chest, massaging his nubby horns, until his initial protesting quiets down and he shivers, kisses you like there’s no tomorrow.

You like intercepting his way towards the coffee machine, grab his clothes and pull him close, nuzzling against him and rubbing his nose with yours while he squirms, asking why you always have to choose ‘fucked up’ times to cuddle. He usually wins those fights and slips out of your grasp; nothing comes between Karkat and bottled energy when he’s gone a day or two without proper sleep.

You like grabbing his hand as he runs by the sofa on his way to work, sending him flying around it and falling into your arms, allowing you to kiss him good bye without actually saying anything.

You never say anything. It’s been impossible for you since birth. But he talks enough for both of you, especially decibel-wise, and you’ve learned to communicate in other ways, so it works out for you anyway.

 

 --

 

When you unlock the door to the cheap but not too shabby apartment the two of you inhabit together, light the lamp without a lampshade on the wall and step inside, draw a deep breath and relax as you smell the familiar scent of ‘home’, you really are trying to be silent about it.  As you follow your deep breath up with a yawn, however, your keys slide out of your gloved hand, they rattle loud enough for you to flinch and that says something, seeing as there’s a noisy ringing in your head from the loud music you’ve blasted all night. You suspect it causes your steps to echo louder than they usually do, as well.

But at least you were home earlier than usual since you’d managed to catch the bus you always intended to catch but never did, because people always want to discuss things or express their admiration after your hours ended.

You hadn’t let them this time.

You’d run, without actually running, and thus it was only 3:46 am your iphone told you when you checked it, placed it on a small chair to your left. Not that coming home earlier made you less tired, but you’d managed to take a short nap on the bus, leaning against the window, hiding in the fluffy scarf Karkat had insisted on buying for you as winter apparently struck hard where you currently lived. You stuff the red and white thing onto the shelf to your right, on which you keep all your wintery accessories. It is soon joined by your gloves, and when you sweep up your keys from the floor and put them in your pocket, closing the door behind you, you yawn again.

You can’t pay the bills with the money you make as a DJ alone, although you gladly would have done so. During the weeks you work night shifts at McDonald’s. Flipping burgers or handing them out to drunkards or other nightly visitors isn’t a glamorous job but it’s better than nothing, and you need the money. It’s definitely one of those ‘in between’-jobs you’ve repeatedly find yourself stuck with though, and you’re lazily looking for something new when determination strikes you.

Which is practically never, for the record. But with your best friend and your partner repeatedly ganging up and verbally kicking your ass about it, you don’t always have much of a choice in the matter.

As you kick off your shoes Karkat Vantas stumbles into the hall, startling you since the ringing in your head blocked out all sounds of him running from wherever he’d been hiding. The living room, presumably. Your gaze jerks up, you see him slip on his socks and waving a piece of cloth around as he attempts to regain his balance.

“Fuck!” You’re not sure whether he talks to you or himself as he slides over the floor, but as soon as he looks up at you, you understand it’s directed at you. “Try to be a little quieter, damn it, you scared me!”

_Is that really how you greet the love of your life?_

_Really?_

You peek at him through your shades, he covers his eyes a little from the sharp light in the hall and it shows him in all his newly awakened glory. He is fully clothed in the same black sweater and jeans you’d left him with, seeing that he’d come home ten minutes before you had to leave.  His hair’s flat on the left side of his head, and faint marks on his cheek convinces you he’d waited for you, but fallen asleep on the sofa.

He always does.

Waits for you, that is.

Sometimes he’s awake, but more often than not he’s fallen asleep, sometimes so heavily you can barely get him off the couch and into the bedroom without carrying him bridal style.  You can’t say you mind when it happens as he more often than not snuggles up close to you, and you fall asleep on top of the covers, relying on him for warmth and he always provides it.

There’d also been times where you’d simply found a blanket and joined him on the sofa, burying your nose against him and letting his slow breathing lull you to sleep.

But none of that applies to tonight. Tonight he’s awake, staring at you and speaking in what you think could be a hushed tone, or it’s just your ears messing with you.

“So how was the club tonight?”

You shrug as you remove your jacket. He crosses his arms as you turn to find a hanger.

“Better luck next time.”

You look over your shoulder at him, nodding slightly, before the cloth he carries catches your eye again as he relaxes his arms, let them fall down his sides. You drop your jacket on the floor without thinking, suddenly finding a hanger for it seems unnecessary.

He’s waving around one of your sweaters.

The jacket hitting the floor causes him to tense up and he follows your gaze carefully, and you can almost see him adding two and two together before he throws the sweater away and you _think_ that’s a blush staining his gray cheeks.

“I fucking _missed_ you, nookstain!“

There are literally four steps separating the two of you and you close the distance in milliseconds when you stride over to him, flash-stepping in a way which’d make your brother proud. You pull him close by grabbing his collar and tugging before he properly knows what’s going on. Your lips crash together and your teeth kind of hurt from the impact but you can live with that.

He takes a second or two to struggle against you, more out of what seems to be instinct rather than actual conscious alarm, you believe, before he gives in and enthusiastically wraps his arms around your neck, pressing up against you.

You missed him too. His touch, his smell, god damn it, even his taste and his yelling; you missed all of it when your schedules didn’t match, and they seldom did.

Before you moved together you hadn’t realized how you’d want, _need_ , him around and now that you know, the time you have just isn’t enough, but you have to make do for now. You intend to change things soon enough. You’re pretty sure he’ll approve, go with whatever plan you manage to think up, if his hand in your hair and his holding onto your shirt is anything to go by.

You’re not sure who starts tearing at clothes but you know he’s the one abruptly ending it, looking up at you with narrowed eyes.

“You need a shower, that fucking smell will cause my thinkpan to rot.”

He always comments how you smell when you get home. He picked up the smell of a girl’s perfume off your shirt once (she’d jumped you in the DJ booth, only to be promptly thrown out). He’d instantly believed your story without fussing about it, because, as he put it, _‘the fucking stench comes from your back’_. You don’t know if the high sensitivity to smells is a troll thing but you think it might be.

Showering him in kisses won’t make him change his mind about the shower. You know this from experience, so you just roll your eyes behind your shades and pull him along with you to the bathroom. 4 am showers are part of your Sunday morning routine by now anyway, since you work every Saturday night, at different clubs but the smell bothers him anyway and you’re too tired to put up much of a fight about it. Showering is a way to spend some quality time with him since he pretty much always decides to join you.

Sundays are your free days, and he usually keeps themfree as well, so it’s the one day of the week you know you can spend time with him. That’s why you make the most of all Sundays, starting from when you get home after work to when you go to bed in the evening, him holding you close and resting his head against your arm as you tangle your legs together and breathe his scent, enjoy the sensation of him being close to you.Even if you often sleep a good part of the day away, your movie afternoons or casual evening strollings in the park near where you live are more precious to you than you let him know.

“Don’t just stand there.”

His voice wakes you up from your mental idling, and as he snaps his fingers in front of your face you almost flinch but you manage to keep your reaction to a minimum. It helps that the sound is a lot quieter than it should be, and you proceed to wrap your arms around him when he attempts to undress you as a way of getting closer to him, but also to taunt him a bit.

No one snaps their fingers in Dave Strider’s face.

His curses bounce off the walls of the tiny bathroom despite it being surprisingly stuffed with various beauty products. You have no idea who they all belong to, to be honest. There’s shitloads of shampoo and other hair products, as well as shaving products and things you can’t see, since you’re burying your face against Karkat’s shoulder. A majority of the things are stuff you collected over time – things you got from your friends and ironic stuff from your bro, products you tried out but didn’t like and then just left lying around… so most of them are probably yours and you could throw at least 80% of them away. Karkat often tells you to do so, but you can’t care less and even now all you have energy to do is notice their presence.

“God, fucking shitnook, could you just _help out_ here!?”

He’s fiddling with your jeans and sure, you know they’re a bit on the tight and skinny side but seriously, it’s not that hard getting them unbuttoned. You slide a hand down and nimbly unbutton them yourself, twisting a lock of his hair between your fingers.

“Fuck off.” He snarls, and you almost grin as he peels your jeans off your hips, leaving you to kick them off which you do. The bathroom’s cold, giving you goose bumps. You hadn’t noticed with your clothes on. “And let go.”

Snuggling even closer you grab his sweater and pull it over his head, dropping it onto the floor while trying and failing to suppress a yawn. He watches you with his chin held lower than usual and his left eyebrow lifted, clearly unimpressed. As compensation you start taking your shirt off and he stops you to take your shades off.

You let him.

He drops them onto the sink and the pile of clothes on the floor grow bigger as you slip your underwear off as well while he leans into the shower, turning the water on. You stare blankly at it, waiting for it to get warm before you step in.

The drapery really could use a run or two through a washing machine, but you hadn’t gotten to that yet.

Since you are in charge of cleaning and Karkat handles everything concerning food and the kitchen in general, your apartment is often more of a mess than Karkat prefers it to be. It doesn’t bother you too much though – you and Bro really hadn’t won any clean house awards with his piles of smuppets, your random stuff and your collective piles of pizza cartons spread all over the place.

Really though, you did clean when things got bad and he started getting on your case about it, so you like to think you do what you can when you have to.

“What are you waiting for, just get in there.” He pushes at you and you stumble lightly into the shower, but as the water hits your bare skin you let out a little gasp and jump right back, a long strain of curses run through your head at the speed of light. Karkat’s skin is thicker than yours; he always turns the water on so hot you practically scald yourself. That‘s another fundamental way in which the two of you differ.

You know this from experience and yet, you forget it _every single time_.

“You’re so sensitive.Must be rough for you.” He rolls his eyes, but he turns the water to a more, for you, pleasant temperature and when you see him lean in you get an idea.

Pranks aren’t your thing, you normally leave the ordeal of organizing and performing them to Egbert, but once in a while you can pull some (ironically) bad ones yourself. Which is why, before he straightens up properly, you push him into the streaming water.

“What the fuck!?”Your hands are on his hips as you push him further, chest flat up against the wall, your fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. “What the actual everloving—“

You slide up behind him, bite down on his neck, hard enough that it’d be slightly uncomfortable had he been human, but since he isn’t, he gasps and shuts up.

See, you managed to turn your whim into something legitimate. Isn’t that just great? Well done Dave, well fucking done. You’d pat yourself on the shoulder if you weren’t busy trailing his sides with your hands and nip at his earlobe, enjoying the warm water drizzling over you and warming you up.

“Strider…” he growls and you twirl him around, kissing him lightly. Which isn’t enough because he still hisses an annoyed, “… these are my only clean and dry pair, idiot.” while sliding his hands around your waist.

 _‘Good thing you won’t need them, babe._ ’ is what you’d say if you could but since you don’t have any way of communicating it to him you leave it be for now. You do help pulling those jeans off him though, throwing them out from the shower and forgetting all about them. Admittedly, your movements aren’t as smooth as they would have been, had you been less of an inelegant mess from sleep deprivation, and the jeans hit the drapery which swings away and then towards you, slicks against your back and you have to forcibly hit it to get it the fuck away from you.

His gaze is unimpressed yet again and you just snort breathily, sliding your hands up his chest (which lacks nipples, but you’re used to that by now) and pressing your lips against his neck. Teasingly light, you know it’ll almost tickle him, and he speaks up immediately.

“Don’t be such a wuss, bulgeteaser!”

You’re not sure that’s an insult but you shrug it off like a champ anyway and keep going the way you started it until his nails dig into your back and he inhales sharply, opening his mouth to let the insults rain over your already soaked head. You decide to move your kissing to his lips instead which cuts his growling short.

He’s all enthusiasm and passion and you’re a bit more calculated yet laidback, but you still meet in the middle somehow and the result is, quite frankly, amazing. The low sounds you make are blanked out by the running shower but you feel his breathing against you and how he presses you against him, hungrily pushing at your tongue with his and your head spins, you can admit that. Maybe the lack of oxygen is partly guilty for it too though, as you let go to breathe he stares at you almost daringly.

_Well, okay, if he puts it that way._

He almost ducks away when your left hand goes for his right horn, but when your fingertips slide along the base he purrs, and as you kiss him again while kneading his horn gently, it doesn’t take long before he bucks against you, droning into your mouth.

Even though he hadn’t been the only one longing for this for a week now, you’re still exhausted. While you’re dully aching with lust you’re eyelids keep falling, your eyes get harder to keep open. It’s probably the warm water, the safe closeness to him, the closed draperies enveloping you in that warm, cozy world. And you damn it all because you want to remain awake and alert for this. Fuck. _Fuck._ Everything about the way he reacts to your touch makes you want to stay awake. You know touching his nubby horns, especially the base, is essentially like giving him a hand job, and his whining goes straight to your general crotch area. You’ve licked at his horns as well, coaxing even better sounds out of him, but his wild hair is usually all over the place.

_In the shower, however..._

As he slides down the wall when his knees start to weaken slightly beneath him, you break the kiss and bend his head down a bit, pressing a kiss against his left horn before running your tongue along it. The loud wail he lets out, thrashing slightly beneath you, tells you that you are doing it right.

“No, no, seriously—“

You stop immediately and he looks up, cheeks reddened with the kind of red that gets you hot as hell because you associate it with sex and sex only, and _shit that frowning will give him wrinkles_. You poke at his forehead and he just shakes you off, breathing heavily.

“No fuck that, stop it, you’re cheating!”

_Now, that’s just plain harsh._

“You’re not getting away!”

Getting away? You’re not aware you’re running away from anything. Confusedly you watch him and he stretches a shaky arm out, getting a bottle of shampoo.

Oh right, you get it.

Did he really have to choose the artificial strawberry-smelling brand in a cheap, glittery Hello Kitty bottle your brother send you for ironic reasons beyond even your understanding, though?

As he flips you around, push you up against the cold wall and squeeze a generous amount of the pink stuff (which might and might not be Hello Kitty’s melted strawberry intestines for all you know and the thought creeps you out a bit so you drop it) on top of your head you just submit to your fate. He’d decided. For one being slightly obsessed with smells he sure chooses weird ones to splash onto his lover sometimes, though. That one smelled nothing like strawberries, more like everything that’s wrong with the world.

On another note, the self restraint he shows off while washing your hair actually impresses you. He’s massaging your head slowly in careful, circular motions, his short-nailed fingertips feeling orgasmic against your scalp, slowly working away your tension from work. You actually find yourself with your eyes closed, completely relaxed against the wall, almost slipping down onto the floor before he decides enough is enough and pulls you into the running water. But even then it’s not completely over as he still works through your hair, making sure every tiny bubble of shampoo is all gone before reaching for your luxurious-looking bottle of soap. Once again a gift, but you like the faint, musky smell of it.

Karkat does as well. He takes a short moment to just breathe in, slowly, as he spurts another generous amount, into his hand this time though. He puts the bottle away and pours some shower gel into his other hand before spreading it out across your chest and arms, even up your neck and you nicely bend your head so he can reach properly, working up a lot of foam. His movements are still slow, but in a different way.

The fourth time he flicks your nipples and stay a little longer to properly massage the area, you can’t even pretend it’s not on purpose.Not that you ever thought it was. But he’s not as good at the silently discreet teasing as you can be when you want to employ the tactic. Not as _smooth_.

Who could blame him though, you were kind of unbeatable at that.

And yet, you still shudder as he slowly runs his nails along your chest and stomach. And when he gets to your legs, having gotten some more shower gel, a gasp escapes you while he works your inner thighs a bit more than he reasonably needs to.

He’s trying to rile you up the way you did to him, apparently.

_‘It’s on, sweetie.’_

He’s on his knees in front of you and you grab his hair going for his horns, he shifts as you touch one of them, answers by sliding his nails up your thighs and you gasp. God damn his light _fucking_ tease-clawing, so close to where you want his hands and yet so fucking far away. It drives you up the wall and he’s bound to know, being practically face-to-crotch down there.

“I see you liked that.” He purrs and you’re covered in shower gel foam but you don’t care, you just tug at his hair until he gets the hint and rises up, complaining about how you always did that and you kiss him while he decides that maybe he can actually slip a hand between your legs now with a hand full of soap and— _shit_. Getting some hands-on-action really doesn’t help as you shove your tongue intrusively into his mouth, jolts of pleasure running through you with every stroke of his hand.

His thigh replaces his hand between your legs and he thrusts against you, just once but you almost choke trying to gasp for air with a mouth that’s full of him and his aggressive tongue.

Keyword being almost.

You lean your head back against the wall, thinking of how to solve this and damn the foam is getting uncomfortably sticky as it begins to dry on you but it doesn’t stop you from grinding back against him and it’s his turn to be caught off guard and he growls and you fucking love it when he growls all throatily like that—

“Bed.”

— wait what— yeah okay, you agree, so you nod most graciously. You‘d much prefer a soft mattress to the hard tiles tonight.

Tomorning.

_Whatever._

You let the water soak you one last time and his hands are practically everywhere as he tries to scrub the shower gel off you as quickly as possible. Heh, you have to admit, you like how he wants you and still keeps it interesting at the same time. It’s not just about wanting, with him and you. The two of you share so much more than that, things you’re not even sure you could name, you just know they’re there.

They’re what keep you around him, what keeps him around you.

When he attempts to stop the water flow he turns it cold by accident and by what could almost be called survival instinct you throw yourself out of the shower, fighting the draperies again, which makes him laugh hoarsely. In silence and with your Strider face on you just throw his towel at his stupid, grinning face.

At least it woke you up, if nothing else.

While he dries himself off you throw your towel over his head, trying to help out but every time you touch his horns through the fluffy fabric he mewls and you find it way too intriguing to stop. Watching the deep blush go down his chest excites you beyond words, and you must say you quite like being the cause of it. When he looks up at you and throws his own towel over your head, drying your hair haphazardly, hissing a husky “fuck you” telling you to do the exact opposite and fuck _him_ , you find yourself smirking while he can’t see it.

_‘Soon enough, babe.’_

You’ll make it happen.

 

\-- 

 

It’s cold outside the bathroom but he clings to you, enveloping you in his towel and himself, and you can’t say it’s far to the bedroom because you live in the small kind of apartment where’s not really far to anything. You slam the door open, probably a bit too loudly but you don’t give two fucking cents about it. The room’s faintly lit from the street lamps just outside your apartment and the blood rushing through your veins almost makes you forget how tired you are.

Almost.

When he pushes you onto the bed and you crawl up a bit so your legs won’t dangle off the edge, you swear you black out for a second or two when you close your eyes.

 His lips on your collarbone wake you up.

“Don’t fall asleep on me!”

He’s riled up and you shake your head, push at his shoulders. You intend on following through with this, you really do, but you’ll have to turn the heat up a few notches so you don’t fall asleep when blinking as the initial rush is fading, drowned by the cold shower and the transportation over from the bathroom to the bed. He rolls over and you straddle him, tilting over him and nibbling his ear, rubbing his left horn with your thumb while leaning on your elbow. He tenses up immediately beneath you with a low chirp, and he’s hard against you, writhing against you, breathing against you, and when he forcibly removes your hand from his horn you grin, turning to face him and wondering how he’ll counter your trump card.

Not that this is about winning, but trying to figure out his next move is interesting since he keeps surprising you, so it is kind of like a game where you win no matter what he chooses to do.

He growls, presses a hand to your chest and you sit up, making sure the movement if felt through all of you, including your ass against his crotch. He groans and pushes up a little against you, his legs shifting and his thighs pressing lightly against your lower back. Your grin grows wider as you lean back against them, hands pressed to the mattress.

“Fuck your—“ you rock against him forcefully, once

“—nooksucking—“ twice, and his nails dig into your thighs

“—pail drinking—“ thrice, his back arches slightly off the mattress

“—fuck, _fuck_ —“ a fourth time and he gives up trying to insult you, at least in a language you understand. For all you know, the chirps and clicking sounds he lets out could be some alien language. Alternian isn’t your forte, you won’t even pretend it is, but actual language or not, you get the point; Karkat Vantas is horny as hell. He’s leaning his head back, pressing his elbows down, cheeks and chest flushed and he’s by far the most attractive being you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

When he takes your hand and a deep breath your grin turns into more of a smile, a wry half-assed one only visible to anyone managing to see the slight lift of the right corner of your mouth, but it’s a smile nonetheless because you know what’s coming. And he knows that you know, so he doesn’t bother wasting time on talking, he just licks the top of your index finger before sliding it into his mouth, massaging your palm. You inhale sharply, shivers run down your spine as you lean towards him and you try not to curl your finger in his mouth since maybe you’d hurt him. You’d done it before. But it’s hard not to do it, it’s hard and nobody understands, and when he licks from the base to the top and takes a second finger into his mouth you are done for. Hell your fingers aren’t the only ones curling, you find your toes curled up too when the initial wave of pleasure has crashed and calmed down and your face is steadily getting closer to him as you double over a bit more with every teasing swirl of his tongue.

It’s definitely comparable to a blowjob and you’re not sure why it feels so fucking good. His teeth make an actual blow job the very opposite of arousing but your fingers aren’t as fragile, and you often forget how sensitive hands can be. But you don’t really mind being reminded.

You hold onto his wrist, lean back and shudder when his other hand finds your hardened dick.

_‘Shit, shit, shit, fuckbikes bananas—‘_

Your mind sings a motherfucking aria of curses and words not making much sense to you. Wanting to show him your appreciation you grind down against him and he whines when you gasp. Curse cuss curse, your mind just can’t chill, it’s running on empty like a headless chicken running in circles, like in some bizarre movie for kids except that’s not very rated E for Everyone is it, and it’s actually more like a broken record because that’s a lot more _you_ and words just keep spinning round, round, round as his tongue plays over your fingers and his hand strokes your dick just the way he’s learned you like it and—

_‘—calm down for fuck’s sake!!’_

Deep breaths.

One.

Two.

Three.

You’re not moving along, matching his movements yet, but you’re steadily edging towards it when you force yourself to lean back towards his thighs and breathe deeper, faster, gasping for air a bit really. Three fingers and a firm stroke and you press down against him. He grunts.

“Okay, Dave, shit, let’s just fucking get to the goddamn point, okay? Good.”

You nod, staring up at the ceiling but you feel his movements against your thighs. He leans over toward your bedside table and returns, settles down between your legs. You let your chin fall back down and you look at him, at the tiny bottle he’s holding, barely even noticing the lack of a condom because you can’t even remember when you last used one with him. You’re both clean and only sleep with each other, so neither of you bothered to buy new ones when the last package ran out.

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as he watches you and you’re physically in pain from wanting him so badly but you restrain yourself, leaning back against his thighs again. He stretches his hand out and the way he hands you the bottle seems to ask you a question: _‘You? Me? At all?’_

You don’t give a fuck.

It’s been a while since you went with ‘me’ when he actually asked though so you might as well, and you sure hope he’ll be careful about it, let you take the lead. You impatiently snatch it from him and he gets you. He understands you a bit too often really, it freaks you out. Should freak you out, anyway. You’re okay with it more often than not, and that freaks you out a bit more, but in the end you just roll with it.

All of it.

Absentmindedly you soak his fingers in lube and he snarls when some hits his stomach, before he sits up and you adjust in his lap, helping him and then wrapping your arms around his neck, sighing when he reaches for your ass immediately, sliding his hand along your lower back.

You remember when he tried this with longer nails once.

You’d slapped him out of it.

But it’s all good this time around, although admittedly it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s definitely not bad. And he is taking his sweet time, you almost want to urge him on but you guess he’s being considerate and you’d rather have that than a bleeding ass. Being rough was okay, but not being careless, and he knows that so you trust him completely as you lean against him, trying to relax and get used to the feeling of his long fingers massaging your ass, slowly inserting a finger and you tense up a bit because it is a foreign feeling, an intrusion even if you welcome it, expected it.

“Dave.” He coos in a soft voice which barely suits him and you tug at his hair to snap him out of it and force him to stop belittling you, pampering you. You don’t need that. You just don’t want him to go on full speed like some fucking bulldozer.

Once again he gets you, and adds a second finger not long after his first. You squirm faintly in his lap as he works you, trying to loosen you up. His fingers bending and scissoring inside of you should probably feel a little weirder to you but you’re surprisingly fine with it, even if a dull pain is building up slightly. In fact, you press down against him just a bit, panting silently and holding onto his hair.

“Fuuuuck.” He groans. “Is this enough?”

You nod because you’re getting impatient, not because you actually think it is, and he seems to sense that in you because he lingers on a bit more, adding a third finger and carefully attempting to help you out when he hits the bundle of nerves which is your prostate gland and you writhe, pressing your face against his neck and as he repeats the motion you bite down. You don’t intend to, but you do. He squeaks, an unexpectedly arousing sound of pleasant surprise, before sliding his fingers out, tilting his head and giving you better access to his neck. You cover it in nibbling, sloppy kisses before sitting up straighter and grabbing his head, a hand on each side, turning it to you and pressing your forehead to his, eyes closed. He slowly breathes in and slowly breathes out before pressing a kiss to your lips and you smile because you can’t fucking help it, and then you reach down between his legs to place his junk better so you can ‘get to the goddamn point’.

He’s equipped with a dick. Him calling it a bulge and making a huge thing of it had made you wonder what the hell kind of tentacle monster you’d find in his pants, and it was with almost disappointed relief you’d realized you were pretty much the same. He’d seemed surprised too, actually, at how similar you were.

One thing differed though. The color of his jizz (“ _genetic material_ ”) and how much of it he produced. You had, however, gotten used to the red now.

As you slide your hand over his cock he initiates a slobbery kiss, all teeth because he isn’t holding back anymore, and you draw blood almost immediately but you barely register it. You have slightly bigger issues on your mind, so to speak, such as the infuriating question about whether or not you actually are prepared enough.

He kind of feels huge down there.

_‘Oh what the hell.’_

You don’t win battles by backing out, so you press forward, downward, against him and he lets out a low scream into your mouth, breaking the kiss, when entering you. Only partly, but you need some time to adjust so he just had to fucking deal with it and shit if his cock wasn’t kind of self-lubricating this probably would’ve gone a lot lees smoothly for you and—

“Fuck, Dave!”

His otherwise impressive vocabulary having been reduced to two words or so is a good sign to you and you let out a little breathy laugh, which really is just a short series of breaths you let out in something which resembles a soundless laugh, leaning back just a tad and watching him cockily as you lower yourself onto him a little more. He clings to your back the way you cling to his hair and you pull lightly at it to gain access to his neck but when you gain it, his hands have slid down to your hips, slowly pushing you down and you’re left breathing shakily against the gray skin you’d planned to nip at, nibble until he almost bruised but just almost—

He lets out another drawn out, hoarse _“Fuck!”_ when you’ve taken him in to the hilt and shit he seriously fills you the fuck up and Jesus fucking Christ in a hand basket you need a moment here, so you breathe.

In.

Out.

Try to relax around him, starting with forcing your thighs to stop shaking because they’re a lot easier to control than the rest of your nether region.

By the power of some uncle’s hairy tits, your chest heaves like you’re running some kind of marathon.

_‘It’s too soon, way too soon, for that. Calm yourself Dave.’_

His hands run back up, trailing your sides and sliding into your hair, massaging your scalp like in the shower and you sigh unsteadily, you couldn’t need him more in your life even if you fucking tried. You lift your head and rest your forehead against his again, breathing.

It feels like half of an eternity but in reality it probably only lasts about 30 seconds, and yet, you’ve never felt closer to him in your life, with your foreheads pressed together and his lips just barely touching yours, his hands in your hair and your hands in his, holding your heads together… you’re practically breathing the same air and he’s gasping almost the way you are, most probably feeling the same sappy shit you do because he kisses you again, gently this time, and you let one of your hands slide down over his back, pressing him closer for a second before you press your feet against the mattress, lifting yourself up just a little bit before returning down, just to test the waters.

He _shrieks_ , never one to hold it in.

You let out a shaky sigh, can’t make the sounds he can but shit, you are enjoying this. A little too much, really, you feel like you’re on the verge of exploding and you want to savor the moment so you take a deep breath to calm down before going again. Lifting up, returning down, slowly and thoroughly, his head falls back and he moans loudly with each movement of your hips, which his fingers are digging into with such force you’d be surprised if it didn’t leave marks.

It takes you four or five tries to properly adjust, and when you increase the pace he goes wild beneath you, moaning your name and the first time you manages to lightly brush against the spot again you almost pack your bags and leave this earth to go straight to orgasm heaven, but you bite your lip and fall forward, pressing your hands against the mattress and expecting Karkat to fall with you. His arms wrap around your neck and you tear at the sheets, still moving frantically against him though you lose some contact in this new position. You’re able to rock your hips though, and he’s able to go into you, so you do and he’s panting in your ear, whining loudly. Your arms strain to uphold the combined weight of yourself and him holding onto you.

“Dave—Fuck—Dave—right—like that—fuck, yes—!!“

His voice is unrestrained, loud, and you think you see stars when he thrusts up against you, brushing that fucking spot again and you twitch, press down against him and rolling your hips and your world is only him; his nails dragging along your back, his chirping and his voice calling your name. You can only take so much of this, you need to calm yourself if you want to ride it out, but you were gonna do it quick weren’t you— _fuck decisions_ , you’d like this to keep up for a little longer, as long as possible. Shit though, you’re gonna come so hard they’ll have to pick you up in another dimension.

When you close your eyes you see red and white and he slides off you, grabbing the sheets and pulling them, you straighten up a bit, pausing your movements briefly to catch your breath and he grabs your hand. You let your fingers intertwine, he looks up at you with a tiny smile and you force yourself to remain motionless just so you can watch him a little longer, all sprawled out at your mercy and being fucking euphoric about it too.

You move again, slowly but with some more force to it, grinding against him and pushing him deeper into you as he rams his hips up to meet you and you don’t know how long you go, you leaning back against his thighs and your free hand, before his back arches, sweat and water from the shower running down his forehead, he keeps his eyes closed. Slightly annoyed you tap his stomach because you want to see him. You don’t take off your shades for nothing, you want to look him in the eye when he comes and you know he’s closer to that than you are, so if you just tip him over the edge maybe you’ll go too and shit.

_Shit._

_You love him._

_Every little part of him._

_With every little part of you._

And when he looks up at you, eyes locking, and he holds your hand harder, you know the same goes for him even if all he manages to say is your name, his breathing raspy and his voice husky, almost pleading. You’re so glad he’s the vocal one because the voices he makes just go straight to your dick and you’re not even kidding about that, you just want to make him go louder, louder, until he _screams_ and it’ll be all because of you and you only—

Inspired by your mental images you bend over him again, combing his hair lightly with your fingers before finding his horn and you press your face against his shoulder as you rub at his horn and rock against him and he does exactly what you wished for, as you knew he would. Words you understand mingle with the chirps and clicks you honestly think might be some language you don’t understand, and he’s damn loud about them too.

“Yes—Yes, fuck, Dave! Yes, yes, yes!!”

He screams like there’s no tomorrow, spasms beneath you, his voice breaks like he’s on the verge of crying and maybe he is, you can’t really see.

You mean absolutely no offense when you roll off him, your ass feeling a bit odd as you do so but whatever,seeing that he starts convulsing, and you do grab his cock to help him through it, let him ride it out completely. But trolls come a lot more than humans and you’d done the mistake of staying put for too long before.

_Never again._

 The mess had taken the edge of your own orgasm, which is painfully close but first things first. Leading him through this is kind of hot as hell anyway so you’re more than okay with it.

You bite the nape of his neck and he fucking sobs, grabbing you by the shoulder and holding you still while clenching your hand and thrusting with the motions of your other hand.

Red trails your fingers, drips off your wrist.

He’d said that if you has sex more often, he’d come less. In a bizarre way you’re a bit fascinated by how much he’s even capable of letting out, and yeah you’re used to it now but the deep red color of it resembles blood a bit too much in some lighting so you sure had flipped all your shit the first time. In many ways, your first time had been more shocking than sexy, now that you briefly remember it. Good thing you’ve just accepted most things now.

He clings to you and because you’ve sort of denied yourself an orgasm and he’s fucking hot going through his, it takes all you have not to hump against him and try to get off.

_‘Patience, Strider, is a virtue.’_

It won’t do to beg for things you know you’ll get. It’s not ironic in the way you’ve been taught you should do things, and it’s most definitely not cool. You know he’ll get to you in a matter of seconds, he just has to breathe, and you care enough about how he sees you (you really do want him to think you’re kind of a cool dude) to follow his example and take in air, very casually dry the worst red off your hand before biting your lip, gasping, _aching_.

Now that you think about it, you don’t know if you care about what he thinks about you now more or less than before you entered this rollercoaster of a relationship. What you do know is that you want his hand on your dick and in your hair, and maybe even your fingers in his mouth or his lips against your neck, and you want to crash into him, rub against him, lose it completely and for a few moments be only Dave-who-needs-Karkat-in-his-life-so-much-it-freaking-hurts and not care about any-fucking-thing else in this entire world.

He grants your wishes enthusiastically as soon as he’s able to and it feels so damn good you just need two or three joined strokes/thrusts, his teeth finding and nibbling your neck as he rolls over to kiss you and a tug of your hair before you’re all over him, wrapping your arms around his chest and a leg tightly around his hips and you have no idea where you are or why because you live, breathe and _need_ this troll so much it’s _all you know_.

All you manage to let out is the sound of your breath hitching in your throat as your toes curl and your fingers dig into his back, you grind against him and throw your head back, almost choking on everything you’d like to shout but you can’t and you can barely even breathe. Shit. Fuck mothercocks you can’t hold all these _feelings_. He curses under his breath and it makes you smile in the midst of it all because it’s an appreciating gesture if any, coming from him, and you hold him so tight you think he’ll suffocate but he only squirms lazily, cursing again and cuddling closer as you have the fucking orgasm of your life and you’d snark about it if you weren’t drowning, craving him so much you can’t freaking stand it.

You’re okay with it though.

Fuck.

You really are.

And as you breathe against him, trying to regain your calm, his arms sneak around you and pull you closer and you let it happen because why the fuck not.

That’s why.

 

\--

 

Afterwards is kind of a blur.

Karkat almost falls asleep but you push him off the bed, knowing just how icky you’d be if you fell asleep without changing sheets and showering the various bodily fluids you’re both covered in off. As you tear the sheets off the bed and he grumpily gets up from the floor, you point to the red stains and his eyes narrow.

“Fuck you, that’s normal, we’re not fucking supposed to reproduce like those lame long-eared fluffbeasts!” he says, making it sound like you’re accusing him of being impotent or something, like he didn’t come enough when your point was to prove the opposite. You just raise your eyebrows because you don’t think an average of two times per week equals humping like bunnies but you digress.

Whatever floats his boat.

Your entire body protests as you drag yourself and the stained sheets to the bathroom, where you kick clothes and other articles made of fabric into a corner now labeled ‘laundry-corner’, but Karkat joins you in the shower and you feel a little better when he sluggishly nudges his nose against yours under the pouring water before you wash both of you off and look for towels while he yawns and stretches like he did most of the job.

You just shake your head at him and wrap him up in a new towel before drying your hair a bit, sweeping it across your arms, legs and chest and wrapping it around your hips. He watches you in silence, huddles up in the covers and you raise an eyebrow towards him.

“Show-off.” He mutters and your poker face crack as you grin at him, swaggering off though it’s a bit hard for you to pull it off a hundred percent since you feel  more than a little stiff, dully hurting, and you just know you’ll feel sore as hell when you wake up. Whatever. It really just gives you a valid reason not to get out of bed and you’ll make sure Karkat sticks around, too, watching movies with you and just generally chilling out. Once in a while you really needed Sundays like that.

As you throw some towels over the fresh stains in your mattress (you’d clean it up properly when you weren’t falling asleep standing up, _jeez Karkles stop glaring_ , it is his fault anyway, not yours) and he helps you drape a sheet over it, you yawn and he finds the covers you must’ve kicked off the bed when you woke up late for work. You go look through your drawers and find him and you some clean underwear, and he puts them on (to please you, you think) with a faint grumble but you’re not used to sleeping naked. Having a brother like your Bro, who liked barging in and drag you along for some morning strifing on the roof so you’d be prepared for everything, kind of ruled the option out before it even became one.

You shake your head faintly to get rid of the memories, you prefer not to think too much about that time for a long list of reasons, and run a comb through your hair before joining him under the covers. He cuddles close immediately and you embrace him, resting your chin on top of his head as he buries his nose against your chest for a few moments, his breathing almost tickling your bare skin.

Outside the window a street lamp shines in through the venetian blinds, faintly lighting up your room but you’re used to it, and his hands are soothingly caressing your back and you tangle your legs together, your left foot rubbing faintly over his leg as he tries his best to get as close to you as possible. You’re running your fingers over the back of his neck in repetitive, circular motions, and he’s purring. It’s a soft, sleepy kind of purr as opposed to the needy one he lets out during sex and it calms you, makes you wonder how you ever could fall asleep without it.

“Better.” He mumbles, crawling up a bit and kissing your neck, right under your ear, sighing sleepily. You suppose he could be referring to your current smell, but he doesn’t clarify and you don’t have any way of asking. You just shrug your shoulders a bit, closing your eyes and breathing his scent.

You wish you could do this every day, fall asleep with him like this, but longing makes the heart grow fonder or what-the-fuck-ever kind of bullshit people say to comfort others who didn’t see their beloved often.

Maybe the saying actually says absence but look at all the fucks you give.

Absolutely none.

And you know it’s ridiculous but you tell yourself the pretty much same thing, seeing that even if it’s not for long and you do see him every day, you still miss him. You share some meals and kisses and, well, things could be worse, you suppose. Until things got better, this isn’t bad. But it’s not good, either.

It’s not perfect and he’s still sticking around, and you plan on doing the same.

That’s the extent of your relationship and it’s enough for you to want to fight for it to work, so you can stick around more than you currently do. It’s enough for you to have come to the realization that it’s as close to ‘love’ as you can get, even if whatever labels people try to stick to you feels kind of off and wrong. You feel what you feel. That’s all, and it’s all good to you. In actuality, it’s more than you could ask for; having someone you want to be around, who also wants to be around you. You didn’t really imagine it’d happen to you, you can’t say you’re the romantic type.

Maybe you’ll tell him you love him one day.

But it’d mean nothing to him and his stupid troll-standards, traditions and terms and all that yada-yada and besides all that, you think he already knows. He’s kind of good at emotions, at least in his own eyes and you think that while he has to work on his approach and wording, his advice is often surprisingly sound and solid.

You like that about him, how he’s a bit unpolished on the outside but still both soft and competent on the inside.

_Should you call him your rough little diamond, now?_

You yawn, drift off and he’s mumbling sweet nothings and you don’t have the energy to try to convey to him that this, in fact, isn’t one of his favorite movies and that he doesn’t need to go through such lengths to woo you when he’s already swept you off your feet like you’re the pitiable heroine-leader of a tribe and he’s the strong, fearless leader of a different clan, giving your romance a Romeo and Juliet-vibe.

In all honesty though, his mumbling is kind of cute. Maybe it’ll fill your dreams with fluffy, pink things, and Jesus fucking Christ would your mind kindly shut the fuck up already, it’s clearly running on empty.

_‘Shush, only sleep now.’_

So you sleep, knowing you’ll wake up to his nightly kicking and squirming because his sleeping habits suck, but you’re okay with that as long as he’s there.

Really.


End file.
